


Little Lion Man

by CristianoCenizo



Category: Warcraft (2016), World of Warcraft
Genre: M/M, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-25
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-18 03:27:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7297609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CristianoCenizo/pseuds/CristianoCenizo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lothar & Khadgar will face their demons and each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Summons

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is chock full of angst and (eventual) sex inspired by music.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Weep for yourself, my man,  
> You'll never be what is in your heart  
> Weep, little lion man,  
> You're not as brave as you were at the start  
> Rate yourself and rake yourself  
> Take all the courage you have left  
> And waste it on fixing all the problems that you made in your own head

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter one is inspired by Mumford & Sons', "Little Lion Man."

 

The thought scratched at the back of his mind, a mad whisper, yet soft like the shuffling of parchment… _It WAS your fault…_

“Brother, my words do not even reach you,” said Taria, her voice warm and light.

The Lion of Azeroth was not easily startled, but at this he jumped. He looked to his sister with eyes wide and full of fear. He sat with the young prince and the Queen in the gardens outside the royal quarters. A table in front of them was spread with a white cloth, set with food and drink. The morning air was crisp and still, but perfumed with the inviting scent of fresh baked goods and smoky wood-fired meats.

Lothar stammered a reply. “Beg pardon, Your Majesty. I’m here.”

Taria smiled, despite the look in her brother’s eyes. “No, you’re not. Are you always this formal as your break your fast?”

The man sat up in his chair and feigned a smile. He was certainly not here—at least mentally—but her accurate reading of him was no less chiding.

The Queen watched with concern edging into her face as her brother’s eyes looked beyond her. She had to stop herself from looking over her shoulder to follow his gaze.

His thoughts turned inward, again.

It had been months now since the portal was closed. Months since the royal funeral, months since the brave soldiers were buried, and months since alliances were formed and strengthened. Every waking moment had been filled with some form of work. The cycle repeated itself, again and again: Lothar spent his days consumed by duty, and at night he found his only escape in the bottom of endless tankards of ale. In the morning, head pounding against the rising sun, he ran drills with the soldiers. Then he collected reports from the night’s watch, and dispatched new patrols. By mid-afternoon, he was sifting through stacks of papers and bundles of scrolls. Later, he would argue the finer points of the documents and sign them when agreements were made. He would end his day discussing the realm’s politics and commerce, moving from one council meeting to the next.

For the most part, Lothar’s duties as commander, regent lord, and champion of Stormwind kept him busy. His heart, however, was an ocean of pain. Grief and sorrow clung to him, thick and greedy. Like a blood parasite, the heartache fed on him and grew. It was a constant pull on him, always tugging him down into the depths. It threatened to drag him, permanently, into shadow. Some days he was ready to give up the fight.

This life of his had been a life of loss and no end was in sight. The path to loneliness began with his wife, who left him shattered and alone with a newborn son. A son he tried to protect and shelter, to keep him safe and for himself. Despite this, his son died a warriors death, slain by ambushing orcs. The horror did not end there. Next, his friend, the very Guardian himself, Medivh. He was a powerful and lonely man, and he died as both protector of Azeroth and its greatest traitor. Then another friend gone. Lost. The death of King Llane, Lothar’s brother by marriage, and Stormwind’s ruler. In Llane’s passing, Lothar—no, not Lothar alone, but everyone—was betrayed by their friendship with Garona.

The realm suffered for the trust they placed in the half-orc.

Yet… The most recent passing?

There it was again, hushed and faint. Gnawing at his mind… _It WAS your fault…_

The spell-chucker. Kirin Tor fugitive. No, that wasn’t fair… He was their Savior. Guardian Novitiate. Lothar recalled the last time he saw the mage. The scruffy pup sat quietly amidst nobility in the sterile warmth of the Cathedral during the final service for Llane Wrynn. Khadgar’s eyes had been wet. All of their eyes were wet.

Lothar could not remember if they even exchanged any significant words after the attending crowd took up the cry, “For the Alliance!”

Then, quietly, suddenly, the mage was gone.

His name filled Lothar’s mind.

Khadgar.

A dark and yearning tendril of fear snaked once more into Lothar’s mind… _It WAS your fault…_

…

… Khadgar.

Lothar felt his stomach drop. For a moment he was hollow and cold and frozen with fear as the haunting vision rose in his mind’s eye again:

The warrior and the mage had defeated Medivh together. Lothar’s immediate concern was with the fel magic’s tainted curse. He worried about Khadgar becoming its next host. Lothar asked the mage to show him his eyes. He would check for the telltale green glow. Lothar hoped against hope that the sickening light was not there. Khadgar met his gaze and the moment was burned into Lothar’s memory. It was as if time had stopped, cut away from the battle before and the battle soon to follow.

He saw tired relief in the creases of Khadgar’s forehead. The happy exhaustion of winning a hard fight. He saw a trace of pain as his younger companion realized that their success meant that Medivh was dead or dying. He saw the beginning of tears in Khadgar’s eyes, misty and red, as he realized the gravity of the situation. Lothar saw the beautiful smile on the mage’s face.

That smile—Lothar knew—was everything.

That smile was the truth and the answer to his heart’s sickness.

It was his undoing.

Every day after, this moment would repeat in Lothar’s mind. The Lion of Azeroth would relive that fight a hundred times as he went about his daily business. No. He would live it a thousand times, if only for a chance that one time Lothar would face Medivh on his own. If only in his imagination, the warrior would slay the demon without the mage’s help.

He would take that burden and guilt away from Khadgar forever.

Booming now, the sound echoed in the Regent Lord’s mind… _It WAS your fault…_

Taria’s voice interrupted his thoughts like a strange sound from another world. “Lord Commander? Anduin? Can you please make an attempt to eat?”

Lothar stared back at her. The Queen reflected none of what she saw in his eyes in her own. “I’m sorry, again. I had trouble sleeping last night. My mind was focused on the day’s work.”

Queen Taria turned to helped young Varian down from his chair. She gave the prince a once over with a silk napkin, a mother’s touch, before sending him off to play. Her attention fell back on her brother and his plate. She raised her eyebrows at his untouched breakfast, a heaping pile of bacon, eggs, and bread. Lothar refused to break her gaze to look down at the food, which was probably cold.

For a split second, the Queen’s jaw tensed in frustration. Lothar knew this meant her patience was dangerously thin. Her disposition was not revealed when Taria spoke. “While you were in your thoughts, I was saying that it would be good for you to take some time for yourself.”

In shame Lothar began to pick at his eggs, hoping to distract himself from the kindling anger he now felt. He shook his head slowly in disagreement—with the eggs and with what he was hearing. There wasn’t time or energy left for this old conversation, again.

He cut a square of egg and stabbed it with his knife. It hovered over his plate, yolk jiggling, while he paused to collect his thoughts. He then spoke, his voice thick and stubborn. 

“You know better than anyone that I can’t leave now. I can’t take time now. We are in the infancy of new alliances and we cannot slow our efforts. There is peace, yes, but there is also fear. There are requests from around the continent for able knights, food, and supplies. Yet, I barely have the forces I need to protect Stormwind and its lands, let alone the soldiers to send elsewhere. I am swimming in scrolls and paperwork, politics and imaginary gold, and I am lacking—above all else—time.”

Taria was not surprised by his answer, or at least her face did not show it. She countered. “I understand. Trust me, brother, when I say that you do not need to carry this burden by yourself. Llane had advisors and—“

Lothar cut her off with with a clatter as he dropped the knife. She had pushed him across the line, and there was anger in his reply. “And who, sister, do I have? My wife is a memory of the past. My son died for his kingdom. My king, the man I swore to protect at all costs, is buried in the ground. Worse yet, our oldest friend and protector was slain when he turned against us. Then we have our new friends,” and he said the word with a sharp disdain. “Our new friends proved to be, on one side, murderous traitors, and the other side, a complete mystery!”

His breath was hot and ragged as he bit down on the next words. “And you…”

He regretted it immediately when he saw tears gather in his sister’s eyes.

Lothar reached across the table to touch her hand and continued in a softer voice, “I am sorry. You, you have a family to take care of. You have a prince to raise and teach. Our future king. Who is there to guard that future? I have myself. I trust only myself to do it right… and there is more work to be done yet.”

Lothar’s eyes were wet and his nostrils flared. He had backed himself into a corner, and he despaired. The Lion sought to defend the kingdom from every angle, but in his blind fury he had lashed out at the one person who truly stood with him. He saw himself alone in a world thick with provisional peace. He knew that a day without progress meant losing everything when the orcs rose again.

Taria stood from her chair and moved to Lothar’s side. She placed a warm hand on his shoulder and Lothar could actually feel the emotions swirling in them both. He raised his eyes to meet hers.

“Khadgar.” She said.

This one word undid him. Lothar did not look away as hot tears began streaming down his face. His sister took his hand and pressed something into his palm. Lothar sucked his breath through his teeth with a sob and clenched his jaw.

The Queen said, “We have peace, Anduin. I believe it will last, for the moment, at least. Right now, today, we finally have time for the things we have set aside. We need to face them.”

She closed his fingers around the object and began to leave. At the door she stopped, fighting the urge to run back and embrace him. Taria pressed her hand into her chest as if to hold herself back. She turned and saw her brother slumped in his chair, heaving as he wept in silence.

“The Guardian,” she whispered, her voice wavering, “is summoned.”

Lothar glanced down and opened his hand. He saw blue and gold swimming in his tears.

The Seal of Stormwind—Llane Wrynn’s ring—sat in his palm.


	2. Servant

 Lothar  crossed the noon sky in a burst of desperate speed.

The royal gryphon sensed the warrior’s needs and pushed itself faster than it had ever flown before. Andiun Lothar took inventory of his situation as rider and mount soared above the emerald expanse of Elwynn Forest.

He knew three things:

If he returned to Stormwind alone, without the mage, he would surely meet his end. He could push Taria quite far, but he regretted that he already had her at her breaking point. If she didn’t exile him from the kingdom, she would surely lock the two of them in her room and let him have it. He wasn’t interested in the fury of the Queen, let alone the unspeakable things she would do to him as his sister. He shuddered and told himself it was just a chill from the wind rushing by.

He had absolutely no idea where Khadgar truly was. Lothar assumed he would find the mage in Karazhan, so that was his first stop. However, he wasn’t entirely convinced that this would be so easy. Khadgar left without warning and had made no attempt to communicate with anyone in Stormwind. Even though he was a knight, he understood the message behind those actions: don’t follow me. The mage didn’t want anyone to know because he was up to no good.

Time was not on their side. The supposed peace the realm was now experiencing would not last much longer. The invading Horde had been stopped, but the portal still stood in the decaying swamplands. There was simply a matter of resources and time before Gul’dan attempted—…

A pang of icy heat pierced his head. Here it was again to torture him.

_It WAS your fault… There is no escape. Not in this life, not in the next._

Lothar’s stomach lurched and he swayed in his seat. The gryphon cried out as the weight of its rider shifted. The knight had grasped the reins tight when the pain began, and he held on with white knuckles as the moment washed over him. He blinked slowly as he came to his senses.

Light above—what was that?

Lothar considered the tide of darkness that ebbed back into the recesses of his mind. When it surged against his thoughts he swore there was a voice calling out to him. Sometimes it was faint, like the crackle of the campfire. Other times, it was as clear as a naga’s warcry. Rarely, such as in the garden with Taria, it roared with such intensity that he was left weak.

He hoped this was not a portent of the future.

Worse yet, he hoped he was not falling to madness. Medivh had isolated himself in his work, locked himself in his tower, and sealed his heart away from the world. What good had that done him? What good had that done anyone? Still, the sea of sadness called out to Lothar again, and he found himself welcoming the familiar tug.

Pull me down.

Take me with you.

Let me drop into it; let me live it with every fiber of my being.

The loss of love. 

The loss of life. 

The loss of trust. 

I have nothing to offer but my sword.

Medivh’s  demonic visage flashed across his mind’s eye. Then he saw Khadgar, battle worn and in shock, as fel flames licked the air. The surge of green consuming the mage, a sight that had made Lothar taste acid in his throat. Then those brown eyes, crinkled with a smile, met his own as the warrior searched for signs of possession. The burden of truth: Khadgar was free of fel energy, but what of his other shackles? The Guardian was dead.

The crackle of thunder interrupted Lothar’s descent into the abyss of the past.

“We have made good time, my friend. You are a legend among gryphons!” Lothar shouted against the storm’s crawl. He ran a hand through the downy feathers on the bird’s neck and it purred against him.

The ivory tower of Karazhan loomed in the distance. It was stark against the burnt destruction of Deadwind Pass. Lightning crashed in the darkened sky.

When Khadgar expelled the fel it had scorched everything for leagues in every direction, leaving a permanent scar on the land. Its touch had even reached the forest surrounding a broken and razed Grand Hamlet. The soldiers that patrolled there were spooked by insidious sounds and darting shadows. Lothar read their reports and knew they encountered darkness even during the light of day.

The gryphon screeched a landing call as it circled the tower. It landed on the main staging area and Lothar dismounted. He rummaged through the leather packs on the mount’s back for a moment, then tossed the bird a plump furry snack.

“Don’t stick around here; I hear there are spiders as big as you in these parts. Off with you, I’ll whistle when I need you. To Lakeshire!” The gryphon regarded Lothar with intelligent but wild eyes. It let out a chirp and a purr before spreading its wings and leaping into the sky.

“And now I’m alone. I also spoke to a lion bird like it was a human. I’m talking to myself, aren’t I? Why, yes, yes you are!” Lothar grinned, amused by his own humor.

Then came a booming shout. “I am glad you are here!”

The commander had never been more taken by surprise. To say he was merely startled would minimize his display. He jumped into the air, did an about face turn, and raised his arm in defense.

Lothar  hunched down, eyes closed, cowering on the stone landing. He heard no other sounds, so he slowly opened one eye and peeked from behind his ‘shield.’ This shield was his bag, heavy with of supplies, held up to protect him. Much later in the future, when he told this story, he would laugh at how silly he must have looked.

He opened his other eye to see what appeared to be a two foot tall, amorphous, blob of orange light. It wore strange shadowy features and had a pair of glowing eyes. Stout arms hung down by its sides, the wrists cuffed by gold bracelets. It had no distinguishable legs of any kind, and no mouth. The bottom of the light dissipated into wispy curls of white mist that ended abruptly a few inches from the ground.

Lothar  regarded this thing in silence before the voice boomed again.

“I apologize for startling you. I am in need of your aid.”

The commander stood slowly but cautiously held his ‘shield’ between him and the blob. Lothar was on the balls of his feet, tense and ready to dodge if the situation changed. He flicked his gaze towards the tower and then back to the creature. His eyes narrowed and he asked, “This tower has no inhabitants. What are you?”

The voice boomed and the orange light stared at Lothar. “I am a Khadgar’s servant. He is in danger. I need your help.”

The knight considered this statement as he watched the blob for sudden movements. This could very well be a trap of some kind, but this was the only clue he had. If Khadgar was truly in need, then Lothar could not ignore the call of duty. He had no idea what he would do if this thing attacked him and he wasn’t sure what it was even be capable of. He had never fought light given form.

Lothar  lowered his pack to the ground and gave the creature a look that could kill. “If you try anything, I’ll cut you down.” His hand dropped to rest on the pommel of his sword. “Take me to Khadgar.”

The servant delighted at this response, or at least it appeared to. It raised two arms and rocked back and forth, before turning towards Karazhan’s main entrance. The voice said, “Follow me, this won’t take long.” The servant did not wait for Lothar to respond as it moved towards the doors. The warrior knight drew his sword, just in case, and followed the light creature a few feet behind.

The lock on the door clicked and it swung open into the darkness of the lower floors. Karazhan was already in disrepair when Medivh passed, but it had clearly deteriorated without its master. Cobwebs cluttered the corners and the air smelled of musty leather and old books. There was the sickly sweet scent of spoiled food and a faint but foul odor of decay. It was lit only by the glow of the servant’s strange body which cast all kinds of shadows along the walls. Uncertain, Lothar stepped into the building’s entryway.

“This looks safe, very welcoming.” He whispered under his breath.

The blob replied, “It isn’t far. Follow me.”

Another voice answered the knight commander, deep inside his thoughts. It was a rasp beneath the sound of wind moving through the trees. _You are a pawn of forces unseen._

Suddenly, the door slammed shut behind them and the tower of Karazhan came to life. Sconces, braziers, pillar candles, and torches all awakened with a hiss of flame. The walls began to slowly undulate with a white and gray energy and the interior took on an eerie pallor.

The servant’s voice rang out again. “Prepare yourself, Commander. The tower defenses are engaged. We must help Khadgar.”

Lothar  dropped into a battle stance and hoped that the mage had given this creature some spells to cast. The Guardian’s home was unfriendly on a good day, and today did not seem like a good day.

**Author's Note:**

> guardian-novitiate.tumblr.com


End file.
